II
"No…"
"No, that's too much,"
"Try the green one again!"
"Hmm… At least your boobs look nice. "
"Ginny!"
Hermione groans, throwing a crumbled-up wad of fabric that was, at some point this evening, a pretty off-the-shoulder blouse. The white material hits Ginny square in the back, and the redhead yelps. She spins away from the mirror, throwing one of Hermione's black lace bras that she was previously holding over her clothes in mock concentration towards Hermione.
Scrambling to the side, Hermione glares as her bra—one of her better ones!—flies past her head, thudding against her bedroom wall with enough force that she's surprised it didn't leave a dent.
"Ginerva!"
"‘Mione!"
Both women glared at each other, painstakingly long seconds passing by with no movement until Hermione noticed Ginny moving her hand behind her.
Trying to keep the smirk off her face, Hermione deadpans as Ginny’s freckled hand wraps around her wand from the mirror behind her.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Ginny’s arm rushes in front of her, almost too fast for Hermione to see. But as soon as her friend opens her mouth, her wand is gone, clattering noisily against the wall behind Ginny.
Ginny’s mouth falls open, a moment of shock passing by—much too soon, for Hermione’s taste—and instead being replaced with a glare at an—admittedly, somewhat smug Hermione. The glare is softened by the smile tugging at Ginny’s lips.
"Oops."
"Bugger off,"
Hermione huffs, rolling her eyes before turning her attention back to her closet.
"You did pull your wand out on me," Hermione recollects, running a hand over the dark fabric of a short, thigh-length dress she hasn't worn in a bit.
Since she last went out with Pansy, she remembers.
Hermione hums, moving past the dress as Ginny starts cleaning up the mess of discarded clothes and shoes littered across every inch of Hermione’s bedroom floor.
"Yeah, well, you don't even really need a wand, ‘Mione. Gotta give me some sort of advantage," Ginny mumbles, frowning at a skimpy pair of—
The lace flies into the top drawer in her dresser, away from Ginny’s prying eyes and redeeming whatever dignity Hermione was about to lose.
Hermione rolls her eyes despite the heat licking at her cheeks, clearing her throat. "Chop, chop."
Ginny just groans, waving her wand around and muttering under her breath as clothes soar around the room.
Once Hermione is decently satisfied with her friend's beautification assignment, she realises she still hasn't figured out what she’s going to wear.
"Ginny…"
They’ve been at it for hours. Who would have thought finding a suitable outfit for meeting with her best friend’s boyfriend’s mother, potential business partner, ex-death-eater’s wife, and possibly the single most breathtaking woman Hermione has ever seen would be so hard?
Resigning to her fate of showing up not only disastrously late but also disastrously dressed, Hermione lays on her bed, letting the soft comforter below her sink her further into the mattress as she groans.
She can hear Ginny laughing before the springs in her mattress creak and the bed dips slightly next to her.
Hermione’s said she would fix that a million times. Maybe if she makes it back from the meeting with Narcissa alive and in one piece, she’ll finally get around to it.
Maybe.
A redhead flops onto the bed next to her, grunting softly when she falls backwards, laying side by side next to a reasonably distressed Hermione.
Hermione only sighs, staring up at the charming constellations glittering on her ceiling above.
"You’re lucky to have such a thoughtful best friend, you know." Ginny declares resolutely, inspecting Hermione's most comfortable and—decidedly, lovely fitting pair—of jeans from where she's holding them, along with an emerald green cable-knit sweater Hermione remembers picking out with Ginny, above her.
Hermione bites her lip, turning her head to goggle at her best friend before sighing in relief.
"Thanks, Gin. I never would've managed by myself."
Ginny nods, agreeing, her brown eyes sparkling in smug amusement. "I know,"
Rolling her eyes, Hermione pushes herself out of the bed, ignoring Ginny’s snickering as she checks the time.
She still... Oh… Actually, if she wants to make it there in time—with a comfortable amount of prep period available…
"Ughhh," Ginny groans dramatically, propping herself up on her elbows as she smiles teasingly, "Go, go. Hurry, get dressed before you hurt that brilliant mind of yours."
"No, really Gin, if I-"
"Shoo!"
Shoo—
"Oh! Almost forgot," Ginny jumps out of the bed, stretching her arms a little before making her way to the bedroom door. Her smile morphs into a crafty smirk as she turns her head, peeking at Hermione over her shoulder.
Probably not a good thing, then.
Ginny pauses.
Dramatic effect, of course.
"Yes…?" Hermione prompts, rolling her eyes.
Ginny’s lips purse as she brings a finger to her chin and taps it as if in deep thought.
"Mm, never mind. Have fun on your date!" Ginny encourages, giving Hermione a scandalous wink before she disappears behind the door.
Red-faced, Hermione ignores the fluttering in her stomach and grabs the clothes from her bed; dead set on omitting the fact that it is, technically, a date.
Right?
Two women… Meeting… To talk….
To talk… About political things! Magical creatures, more specifically.
It is not a date.
…
Hermione kind of wishes it was a date.
Groaning and feeling her heart stutter in its rhythm, Hermione tosses the matching set of her black, lacey bra and knickers to the other side of her bed.
Brilliant.
Now Ginny knows where her lingerie is.
Hermione runs a hand through her frazzled hair in exasperation.
Now Ginny knows what her lingerie looks like.
"Shhh!"
"Shh? Don’t you shush me—!"
"Shh!"
"Shh nanna!"
Hermione freezes, hand lingering on her door handle, mid-close, as she takes in the sight in front of her.
Her living room, filled with people, she most definitely did not invite, to her living room. Or to her flat for that matter.
"Uh—Andy?"
"Oh! Hello dear, how have you been, heard you’re having a bit of a talk with my sister, and wanted to stop by and make sure things were dandy," Andromeda smiles, walking towards Hermione with a pink-haired teddy sitting on her hip.
"Oh. Well—"
"Take Teddy for a bit, will you love?"
Teddy’s chubby hands grab at the stray curls Hermione couldn't quite get under control.
"Eermy you look pretty"
"Of course—thank you Teddy—what’s th—"
"Right then, Harry wanted to say a thing or two, leave it to him then,"
Andromeda throws another charming smile at Hermione, each word bringing her closer to the door. By the time Hermione’s put the pieces together, Andy’s unruly waves are fluttering through the open door leading out of her flat, with the notes of a familiar, gaudy laugh echoing down the hall.
"Eermy!"
"‘Mione…"
Hermione throws a hand up in the air, holding onto Teddy with the other as Harry’s apologetic voice cuts out.
She cannot believe the nerve of these two—
"Hi Teddy, your hair looks lovely. Did you do it yourself?" Hermione smiles, injecting as much humour into her voice as she can manage. It must work, because as she pulls one of the hot-pink curls on top of Teddy’s head, he giggles and nods enthusiastically.
"Watch me watch-eermy watch please" Teddy pleads, and Hermione smiles encouragingly.
Walking over to the couch, setting Teddy carefully down onto the leather—he crawls right back into her lap, smiling with, what would be a toothy grin if he had all his teeth, that is.
Hermione ooh's and aah's as she watches his hair change from a dark purple to a sea-form blue to neon-green before finally settling on the hot pink from earlier within a few minutes.
"‘Mione, seriously-"
"Oh, that’s brilliant, Teddy! Good job!"
Teddy laughs, and Harry sighs from behind the couch.
"Alright, Harry?" Hermione asks cooly, not looking back at the man in question but keeping her attention following the, now coal-black-haired, toddler running after Crookshanks around her table.
"Be careful, please, Teddy,"
The boy nods as Harry walks in front of the couch, wearily glancing at Hermione as if he’s afraid she might snap at him.
Luckily for Harry, Hermione is perfectly willing to listen to his excuses. As long as they’re good. And as long as he can explain to Narcissa why she won't be at Marauders tonight.
Speaking of which…
"Who’s running the restaurant tonight?"
Harry sighs again but smiles sheepishly, satisfied that Hermione’s at least looking at him now.
"Draco," Hermione’s thoughts must show, because Harry laughs quietly, nodding. "Exactly. I’m sorry for springing this on you. Really, 'Mione, I know you had that thing with Narcissa tonight and-"
The sound of Teddy laughing, running, what must be sticky fingers, because Crookshanks' fur slicks back unnaturally, begrudgingly laying in his lap, makes Hermione smile.
"It’s alright, Harry, I know how Draco gets by himself," Hermione laughs, remembering the last time Harry had Draco manage marauders alone for a night; it took ages for Hermione to figure out how to get the smell of smoke out of the place.
Harry nods, shaggy black hair sprawling over his eyes, "Ron’s there too, helping with tables,"
"Oh, Merlin…" Hermione pales, understanding dawning on her. No wonder Harry needed to drop Teddy on her for the night.
"I sent Gin over there already, for damage control, but," Harry laughs, exasperated affection dripping from every word, "I think you can figure out how well that plan's going?"
Hermione sighs, running a hand through her hair, ruining the perfectly styled curls for once. "Yes. Of course, you still owe me one. Hermione jokes, flashing a sympathetic smile his way.
She would much rather deal with little Teddy than with those three.
Harry nods, running a hand through his hair, "I owe you one,"
Hermione agrees before shaking her head, letting a faux frown cross her features, "Just… Let Narcissa know for me? She’s probably fuming at me being late and…" Hermione trails off.
For dramatic effect.
Moving her attention away from Teddy and her poor, poor cat, she peeks at Harry through her periphery.
Harry’s gone pale in the face with enough fear in his eyes to make Hermione snort, "You do owe me one," she reminds, trying her best to keep the laughter from her voice as her friend shakily nods.
"Of-Of course ‘Mione, but don't you think Andy owes you one too, though?" Harry wipes his hands on his trousers as he stands, staring longingly towards her front door.
She hadn't forgotten about the older woman. How could she when Andy, quite literally, baby-bombed Hermione?
With a smile and a plan forming in her mind, Hermione sends Harry on his way, quite content at the moment to watch Teddy try to mimic Crooks’ fur colour.
She's sure to have a mess to help clean up tomorrow at the restaurant.
A few days later, an owl flies into Hermione’s flat after work. A small barn owl that nuzzles into Hermione’s hand affectionately while she takes the letter from her.
Hermione cant help but to laugh at Cher’s familiar routine; deliver Andy’s letter, receive treats and pets from Hermione, look for Crookshanks, fail to find Crookshanks, and get more pets before she takes off.
Only this time, Cher waits around after her second round of affection, standing idly by while Hermione takes the letter to her desk.
Oh? The envelope is black.
Andy’s never used black envelopes before, always either a pale green or plain beige one—Hermione supposes she could simply be deciding to mix things up, but when drops the letter onto the wood of her desk, it lands, coincidentally enough, right next to the letters she sat aside from Narcissa.
All delivered in black envelopes.
Oh…
Hermione's stomach flutters, not unpleasantly, at the aspect of hearing from Narcissa again.
It's not like she didn't trust Harry to deliver the news adequately—or even Andy, but she had sent her own letter to the woman with her apologies and hopes to reschedule. Unfortunately, Hermione never received a reply back.
She hopes it has nothing to do with what happened with Andy. Hermione's fool-proof plan had unseen consequences when Andy busted into her flat, demanding to know why Teddy kept insisting that he’s going to be sorted into Hufflepuff.
And why Andy lied to him about being in Slytherin.
Hermione doesn't condone lying to children. By all means, Merlin, no, but...
A little harmless fun is another story. The altered photographs of younger Andy, clad in black and yellow, may have been a bit too far though, she admits...
It’s odd, though, isn't it? Why would Andy’s owl be sending Narcissa’s messages to her ? Couldn't Narcissa just send it with one of her owls? Perhaps Narcissa’s at Andy’s, or vice versa even. That still strikes Hermione as strange. Why not wait until Narcissa returns to Malfoy Manor to write to her?
Frowning slightly, Hermione cuts open the letter, surprised to see the smallest message she’s received thus far from the women.
Confusion, worry, and something akin to adrenaline rush into Hermione’s stomach as she reads over the familiar writing. And then rereads it. Again.
On the fourth time, Hermione’s mind is already in action, thoughts moving faster than she physically can, but with the help of her wand—almost immediately flying into her hand from across her nightstand—things proceed much faster.
It’s almost second nature, to tune out her thoughts when something like this happens. The only times her head is completely empty, running mechanically without Hermoine’s intervention, is when things need to be done, fast, efficiently, and, most importantly, without thought.
This—Hermione feels the ground lurch from under her—is one of those moments, it seems.
Her stomach drops, out of her body, until it scrambles to gather itself back into form and right itself in her abdomen as she lands steadily on solid ground once again.
When her vision clears—Merlin, she hasn't apparited in ages—her breath catches before she can force it back down.
Malfoy Manor is darkly lit, illuminated only by the lights flickering inside of the windows and the few lamp posts littered along the path spiralling towards the manor’s door, casting the grounds in shadow in the moonlight.
Hermione huffs, her breath materialising as fog in front of her and goosebumps arising along her arms. She wishes she could have brought a coat, at the very least. Instead, she steadies her breathing and casts a warming charm, praying that the little silver otter swimming around her head can make it past the protective charms on the metal gate.
"Find Andromeda," Hermione thinks resolutely, feeling the connection shimmer between her and her patronus.
Shifting her feet, Hermione sighs, biting at her lip as a streak of silver swims through the darkness.